When the night is dark
by Pluemon
Summary: A story about Oswalds dark, oppressed feelings and the Riddlers despicable revenge. WARNINGS: Angst / Depression / Gun and physical violence / Suicide / Dark / Alcohol and Drug abuse / non-consensual This is my very first ff written in English. So please excuse if it may seem a little bumpy along the road. I am always looking for feedback to improve :)
1. Tired

**When the night is dark**

 **Chapter 1**

 **TIRED**

„I'm glad, you're here..." Wind tore on Oswald. Rain whipping his face. Both were soaked wet – and no one could see if there were any tears. His eyes casually surveyed the roaring darkness of Gotham River. Pitch black nothingness beneath them. It may as well been hell been waiting for him down there. The harsh wind nearly shook him off Arkham bridge, if it wasn't for the strong hand, that grabbed him from behind and kept him up. "I am so tired..."

 _Earlier that night:_

"Thank you for your honesty, Martin... You may leave now."

Oswald sighed heavily, as the his co-conspirator, the orphan boy Martin, left his limo. 'I saw her kiss the policeman' – one sentence confirmed all his fears: There was really no one, Oswald Cobblepot, could trust. He suspected her from the beginning to not be the caring friend, she acted to be. But he didn't know why or for what purpose. Was it out of love for James Gordon? His "friend" Jim, who probably owed him more favours than the devil owed to people who traded their souls. And who yet never repaid him. - Or was it for the Falcone families sake? Maybe it was a little bit of everything. But nonetheless Oswald now had proof , that she was the false snake he suspected her to be. It saddened him for a moment. Some little voice in his head wished her affection for him would be genuine. That sad little voice, that longed for a friend. Even so friends can't be trusted. The Penguin felt awfully lonely. He despised it, when people tried to snuck into his life. He'd done it himself often enough, to know the possible effects. Because that's how one overthrows a mayor, as well as a crime lord. Penguins cane knocked against the drivers wall. "Home..."

The following night was a particularly stormy one. Maybe one of the worst Gotham had seen in a while. Heavy wind picked on the opened window shutters of the Van Dahl Mansion, his – and his families – home. Oswald could hear the rain hammer against the roof, and splashing against the windows. An old house like this made a lot of sounds, especially in nights like these. He jumped a little, as one of the shutters smashed against the window of his bedroom. Already in his pyjamas Penguin decided to get the shutters closed – and he'd been soaked wet immediately after opening the window. A deep sigh fled his lips as he just grabbed a towel by his dresser and dried his face a little, half-heartedly. When he switched off the light on his night stand darkness surrounded him. Oswald has grown to dislike the darkness over the last year. He couldn't exactly remember when it started. Maybe his dislike came with his nightmares. Maybe...

Suddenly he fell.

Oswald fell into deep icy water.  
The water smashed around him. Smashed his body. Broke his bones and pressed all air out of his lungs. Then water became to glass shatters. Shatters, skewering his whole body. Pinning him to wet, cold ground. Like resting in a wet grave, he could watch raindrops fall upon his lifeless body. When raindrops turned to snow everything lay in total silence. Only the constant humming sound of his own blood, rushing through his ears broke with the silence, but even that seemed to be silenced. Oswald couldn't move a finger, let alone lift a hand. He couldn't breathe, a shatter stuck deep in his chest, piercing his lung, as one pierced his heart. Left for dead. The only thing he felt was his own warm blood, which soaked his chest and the ground beneath him. When in an instant the floor moved and he was hanging on a wall, still skewered by the shatters. Green smoke raised before him. As he desperately gasped for air, the smoke filled his lungs. Gave him the feeling of burning inside – when through the ever growing cloud a well familiar face appeared. And like thunder a voice droned through his ears. "You can't talk your way out of this" He couldn't move his lips. He couldn't say something even if he wanted to. Oswald never felt as defenceless as he did in this moment. Never that helpless. It felt as if tears ran down his cheeks but he quickly realised it was something crawling up his face: Spiders. Hundreds of them streaming up his face, aiming for his eyes, nose, mouth, ears... "I have wanted you to suffer as I've suffered..." Everything went dark. A sour stench reached Oswalds nose, as he struggled to breath even heavier than before. "I don't love you ... I loved her." A gunshot. Heavy pain. A hand pushing through the pitch black. The spider infested darkness was broken – as the hand brutally hit Oswalds chest. And everything changed from absolute silence to nothing but noise. As the hand pushed right through his chest – to rip out his heart, as he once again fell. Down, into the icy waters of Gotham River. The last thing he heard before silence fell again was his own voice, broken, quietly saying: "I'm fine for now..."

Oswald awoke with a start, in sheer panic, voicelessly screaming - since not the slightest sound left his throat, for it was dry as sand. Sweat ran over his face and his whole body. His bed now was not only soaked from the rain-wet pyjamas. Pink stains, from the fresh coloured highlights in his hair, on his pillow, looking like Rorschach-tests. It took Oswald way too long, to recover his breath. His heart was beating that fast and loud, as if it attempted to overpower any other noise. Once again, one of those returning nightmares, he sighed, shaking off the thoughts. Ed was out there, somewhere, dumb as a stump, but he was still out there. Maybe he shouldn't have sent a girl-band to do a man's job. Cobblepot slid to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the cold, wooden floor. For a while he just sat there, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in the palms of his hands. Breathing deep. A quick look at the clock educed his lips another deep sigh. It was only half past midnight. And the storm was still raging on, Oswald finally left his bedroom, in slow, heavy steps. His damaged leg causing him to limp worse than normal. That often happened when the weather was as bad as today – or cold, that's when it hurt the most. In a slow pace he went to the living room. Surrounded only by darkness, Oswald turned on only one table lamp, next to his wing chair. He very rarely used the couch any more. He didn't like the memories, which came with it. All alone in his mansion Penguin turned the record player on. Way too loud maybe, especially at the given time of the night. But he was alone, so who'd care anyway. His next steps lead him to the mini bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. And another. And another. And then he just ditched the glass entirely and sat down in his chair, the bottle in his hand. A muffled chuckle left Oswalds throat, as he raised the bottle for another sip. "That's not very gracefully, isn't it?", he said to himself. "But you know what? Grace's for the people who're awake. If it may help me sleep I'm happy not to be that damn graceful man I'm expected to be." That was followed by another sip.

Oswalds mind was a little blurry after that and he started humming along the music. It was a song about love. Swing'ish in it's style, but yet dark and kinda depressing. Another sip. Oswald rose from his seat and moved aimlessly through the room, Occasionally doing some kind of dancing moves. Or at least something similar to dancing. Another sip – and the empty bottle was carelessly dropped. With a thump it fell to the floor, while Oswald was already limping back to the cabinet where his alcoholic beverages were stored. But suddenly he paused, turned around and eyed the bottle, which was slightly rolling back and forth. Lightning illuminated the room for a second, just before thunder sounded as he was about to take down the house. "There's literally nobody that'd care... is there...?" A dry smile drew on Oswalds lips. "Has it always been that easy?" His hand took hold on his wing chair. Oswald just stood there for a while. Hundreds of thoughts and possibilities flooded his head.

And with no further hesitation he grabbed his phone, which was lying on the table in front of the couch.. A little tipsy he crossed the room, grabbing himself a bottle of vodka on his way out – and left for the floor, the music kept playing. Hastily Oswald threw a coat over his shoulders, grabbed the keys and left the house – door left open, to get into his car. Still in his pyjamas he got behind the wheel, starting the engine. In a manner of habit he placed the gun he always carried in the passengers seat. Whilst driving of his property, Cobblepot held the phone to his ear.

Leave a message – bleep

"Hey, 'know 's late but 'd you meet me? Please? In 10 minutes up on Arkham bridge? Got... I got some exciting news to share with you. To celebrate that special... that special day it is.", was the message Oswald left. His voice started off slurring, but he pushed himself back into his old, overenthusiastic tone.

Penguin may or may not have bumped a lot of other cars on his way down into the city. His vision was blurred and shaky, the heavy rain flooding the windscreen and the wind tearing on his car did no good either. It was a sheer miracle that Oswald somehow managed to get his car down to that bridge in one piece – and more so: With him being still alive. But that night was no night to waste a thought about stuff like that. He "parked" his car in the middle of the bridge, half on the pavement and pushed the door open. The wind took heavy on him up here, with no protecting walls the storm hit his body without mercy and pushed Oswald back against his car, as he tried to get out. He bumped his damaged knee against the door, hissing in pain, eyes narrowed. Finally he pushed himself away from the cars frame. He went to the other side, took his gun and left, doors opened, keys still in the lock. He limped over to the railing, near the heavy framework carrying the bridge. There was a ladder, for construction and maintenance, starting a little out of his reach. So he carefully placed one foot on the railing and pushed himself up. Penguin nearly slipped, on the wet metal, before he even really got a stand. Another careful climb, into a whole of the frame, and he could finally reach the ladder. The bottle which was in the bag of his coat tinkled as it bumped against the metal, when Oswald took a brave jump, to get himself better up to the ladder. He got a grip on the stairs and was able to finally pull himself up there. Then – he just started to climb. The drunk man lost track of time and it seemed like he was climbing forever, before he finally reached the top. Carefully, with a tight grip to the struts, he made his way for the middle. The wind was heavier up here and took all his power not to fall. Oswald dangerously slipped a few times, but finally he reached the middle of the bridge. One hand with a safe grip around metal, the other one searching his pockets. A silent tinkle came from his right one, with the gun which brought a relieved smile to his thin, shaky lips. What a great view one must have from op here, he thought, if it wasn't night and within one of the heaviest storms Gotham had seen in years. The crime-lord staggered while he opened the bottle of Vodka, to take a sip. "That's quite a unique drinking place. But you'd better be off not getting drunk up here.", a friendly voice suddenly intervened. The man to whom the voice belonged stood really close behind Penguin, as he could feel the warmth of breath in his neck. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder. "I'm glad you came, Victor.", Oswald said in a relieved manner. On his lips a shaky, but warm smile. Victor Zsasz was a hitman, who worked for Oswald, for a couple of years now. Well, at least he always did when Penguin was in charge of things and flush. Like now. "What are you doing up here anyway? Is this some kind of scream for help?"  
The small man had to laugh at these words. Maybe it was. A good question. Why came he up here first place? Some kind of knee-jerk reaction. But it all seemed so clear now. So easy. So obvious. "I'm glad, you're here...", Oswald repeated himself, as the wind nearly tore him off the bridge. Only due to Victors firm grip he didn't fall. The darkness below seemed so welcoming. "I am so tired..."A soft push on his shoulders indicated him to at least sit down, which he did. Fingers clenched around the bottle. After a sideways look at Oswalds face Victor wasn't sure, if his boss was crying. He looked kinda weeping, but in the dark and with the rain which had them both soaked wet, he couldn't tell for sure.

"What's that special day you were talking about?", Victor asked, afraid of the worst.  
"Today, a couple of years ago, I met Nygma. 'Twas at the GCPD, probably he doesn't even know I remember..." Oswald mentioned with a saddened smile. "And as destiny goes, tomorrow, or... today? What ever, two years ago was the day he shot me in the chest." Oswalds eyes narrowed, but his sad smile became bigger. His look was nothing but hurt. "The irony is astonishing, don't you think?" Victor shrugged. He had a very bad feeling, about this conversation.

"Look, Boss, maybe we should reschedule this meeting to a dryer and not that windy place?"  
"No! We're fine right up here!", Oswald insisted. Victor eyed his boss, worried.

"You're drunk and maybe not in the best place to-"

"Silence, Victor! I didn't call you here to ruin this.", his voice had a more sharp undertone.

"So why did you call me...?" Victors grip at Oswalds shoulder did not loosen at any second.

"I... I don't know... well, no actually, I do... You... as crazy as it may sound, despite me paying you to be here: You're my only friend, Victor."

A long silence fell. Those words had to sink in. The hitman was more worried then ever.

"Oswald, you're my friend, too.", he now tried to ensure his boss some safety.

"Stop pretending. I know it's very one sided. It is always. So.. don't worry about that. It always is one sided with...", Oswald muttered, as he finally took a big sip of Vodka.

Victor let himself sink down next to Oswald. Their legs were tangling in the stormy air, reaching down for the black jaw of death, that Gotham River was in that state. Now Victor was sure he could see tears on Oswalds cheeks. His eyes adapted enough to the darkness, to even notice the red lines in his eyes. His boss sure looked very tired. "You want to talk about it?"  
Penguin sighed, of course he wanted. That was why he asked Victor to come here. Wasn't it? He did not want a suicide witness but someone to talk to, so someone knew... why. Oswald became awfully quiet. He was lost in his thoughts. So this was it. This was the decision he'd made. A decision hi made in the blink of a second. Tonight he was going to die. Rather fitting – probably no one ever could kill him, but himself. For... if you know what a man loves, you know how to kill him. Maybe Nygma was right, after all – and he only loved himself. Maybe he really would sacrifice everything and everyone, just to save himself. But that would be over now. He couldn't really remember anyway. Wasn't his mother dead, only because of his actions? Did he choose to sacrifice his life for hers, just to right the wrong he did? To silence his bad conscience? Did he really ever cherish his friendships? Did he go to Arkham Asylum for the murder Gordon committed only to safe a friends good name? A selfless act? Did he give up everything to be with Nygma, for no reason but his happiness? No. Oswald started to see himself as the person everyone saw him. Selfish. Evil. Cunning. And false. Not trustworthy. Ugly. A disgrace.

"I can't remember... when I started to become tired.", Oswald suddenly broke the silence, to Victors surprise. "Maybe it started when I was little. My mother raised me all by herself. She told me my father was dead – probably a lie to protect herself, from the pain that my fathers family forced her to leave. On the other hand this took me the chance to search for my Papa...", Oswald sighed.

"When I was little we were really poor. My mother couldn't afford a good apartment for us – but she clung to that European dream she had. She tried to get me the best suits. But which schoolkid, if not for the rich, went to school in a suit. I didn't want to hurt her, so I said nothing. And... I started to like them. They separated me from the other kids. Kids, that'd call me 'Nosewald' and stuff like that. They'd have always found something to pick on... I was that weird little boy, not nice to look at, I think, and acting all weird. You know: Like an eight year old, in a dusty suit, with wild hair, a slightly different accent, and a long pointed nose – acting if he was better than the other kids. And I sure was. For I never picked on someone weaker. I despise bullies... They pushed me around, destroyed my suits – but my mother always repaired them or got me new ones, telling me to be more careful, until she found out it wasn't me who ruined them. Then she always sang to me and told me not to listen to the other kids, I had fresh bruises everyday. I wasn't a particularly strong or big kid, as you may have guessed. When a boy in school threw a stone at me, calling my Mom a whore that was the first time I ever hit someone. And boy did it feel good, to smash his face on the pavement. Of course I got in trouble with the school, for nearly killing another kid. I didn't really remember it afterwards. I just knew how good and relieving it felt. But I never forget my mothers face when she had to pick me up. The disappointment in her eyes. I didn't care much for the other people which had fear in their eyes and looked at me as if I was a monster... but my mothers look, it hurt me. Back home she washed the blood off my knuckles and cleaned my clothes. It took her a while until she said 'Oswald, I don't want you to get in fights. You are a smart kid, use your brain. And look – you ruined your shirt' – T'was probably a weird thing to say.", Oswald chuckled, as he took another sip from the bottle. Victor sat in silence, listening carefully to his words.

"But that... that was the first time I started to feel lonely and empty. I don't know why. I could tell everything to my mother, I thought. That she'd love me unconditionally, but maybe? Maybe she didn't. And I did not want to disappoint her again. So I decided to never tell her the bad things in my life. But that also meant I had no one. And that despite the fact I spent most of my life with her. And only with her. When other kids fell in love for the first time, when they prepared for school balls, introductions, university, when they had their first kisses and lost virginity to someone whose name name they probably wouldn't even recall, in a few years time I lived in something like a parallel world. I never fancied someone, as others did. Sure ofcourse I had an interest in people once or twice – but they always shut me down. For people it was way too easy to use me, since I mostly tried to fit in. As I wanted to ...not... be alone... to be normal, to have friends, like all the other kids had. Get yourself a girlfriend, settle down, study at a university, join the sports team, have a couple of kids and live a good life. I strived so badly for to fit in. I bent and tried, but it never worked out. People would laugh at my face when I approached them, spit at me. 'No one wants to be friends with a freak!' or 'Don't you dare touch me, ugly creep!' their voices lingered in my ears for years. I tried so hard. I cried myself to sleep every night – and acting all fine, when my mother asked. I just occasionally told her, when someone was mean to me. I would have done a lot to be accepted by the others... and... I sure did. The things I did for sure scratched on my dignity. Growing older I did not understand all the gibberish people were talking. Once in a while someone actually tried to befriend me, but it did never work out. My interests in things like news and politics never caught an open ear. I spent my afternoons in the library, reading up on strategic tactics and famous warlords, and my evenings with piano lessons. You may not know but I'm actually pretty good. Maybe I just should have become a pianist for a living...", Oswald paused for another laugh. Penguin didn't strike Victor as a professional musician, but he didn't want to disrupt him. It seemed as if his boss took really good in talking off what held him down, for maybe way too long. And to see him laugh hushed his fears at least for a little.

Even through his blurred vision Oswald could see Victors slightly lifted eyebrow, which elicited his lips a slightly warm laugh. A laugh that let Victor kinda smile for a second, too. Finally Oswald moved on:

"So while at college I tried to befriend some jocks, even join the sports time – well yeah that didn't work out – but I got to stick with some jocks. They pretty much bullied me all the time. I had to clean up after them, wash their sweaty towels, help them to cheat tests and do their homework. In exchange they protected me, from being beaten up by other jocks. They said I was their mascot to mistreat. They always said that with a laugh, so I just went along, laughing. I didn't want to anger them. When I had to assist them during a night, at a party, with some girl they picked up – to get the girl into a taxi for example, or something to drink for her they always were kinda nice to me. I remember one of them, when he laid his arm around my shoulders and he told me 'Oswald, one day there will come someone as pretty as her, that will take that innocence from you, and make a man out of you crazy freak, too. I promise.' I remember how is blood tasted. It was sweet. So sweet. And afterwards I quit being the jocks little mascot."

Victor tilted his head slightly, with a smirk on his lips. That story took a strange turn right there – and he could clearly imagine Oswald beating someone to death for a stupid sentence like that. Truly... sometimes Penguin wasn't the most stable person.

"Becoming older, I didn't much care for the shitty life I led. I wanted more. I wanted to be able to get my mother a nice apartment, with good view – for her not to be stuck in a dusty old building any further. I wanted that all the people who looked down at me, the people that had spit on me would regret how they have ever treated me. I didn't care for revenge. But I wanted not to be the person everyone thought I was and who'd I ever be. But maybe I never really achieved that goal... you know to become... someone bigger. Sure people feared me, people admired me, some may have envied me – but mostly – and especially the strong people still always looked down at me. Galavan, Gordon, The Court, Sofia also for sure... Maybe not her father. Her father Carmine always treated me with respect. _That_ is a good and decent man.", Oswald lay emphasis on this, his index-finger pointing in the air. The other hand raised the bottle to his lips. Now he didn't even seem to bother to hold himself up there. Victor decided to carefully get a little closer. His side now touched Oswalds. His hand was still resting calmly on his bosses shoulders. He didn't dare to put his arm around him yet, but Oswald gave no sign of resistance. So he decided to sneak as near as possible, during the monologue Penguin told, and by that lull him in, maybe get him sleepy. If it must be – by force. He's never seen his boss so calm and yet so under pressure. His eyes were half shut, staring down in the black of the river. Raindrops fell from the long, black lashes. Goosebumps all over the pale skin. He must to feel cold, but maybe he didn't notice it anyway.

"I don't remember... maybe it was working for fish, being caught up, but maybe it was when my mother died... when I saw her life leave her eyes. Her body become weak. When I knew everything I told her was nothing but lies. Lies about my occupation, lies that I'd safe her... Nothing but... but... nothing... I wronged her. The only person that ever loved me. Her blood was spilled across my hands, I couldn't tell her I love her, I couldn't say how sorry I was. I just sat there, cried, paralysed and thought of revenge. In a situation so vulnerable. But of course I managed to get out. I had to leave her behind. Stabbed, by that bitch.", he shouted in anger. "I can still see her face. How she looked at me, when I broke her heart, telling her lies, that I was just a club owner... Her face. When she died. And that of the people around me. Looking down at me, laughing at pathetic Cobblepot, who clung to his dead mother... Crying, devastated. They had no honour. And to that day they look down at me in the exact same fashion... for them nothing changed. I'm a joke. An angry little man who couldn't even revenge his mother -"

"Oh c'mon boss, it's not healthy to hold such a grudge. Let's go down there get that whip-lady and simply hang her. That'll cheer you up. Plus it is long due.", Victor interrupted in a slightly anticipating tone, which caused Oswald to laugh. He carefully and slightly patted Victors leg. "That's what I like about you Vic. You're practical. But no... I gave up on that. I... think I made my peace...", he shrugged. Victor sighed silently. When Oswald declined going on a murder-spree with him things definitely were grim.

"Then there was that night Ed... Nygma... found me in the woods. I was shot, dying, hiding. He was out there to... to bury his girlfriend he just killed." A meaningful smile lay on Oswalds lips, deep sadness in his eyes. What are the odds...? It was destiny. Destiny again seeking to make a fool out of me. Oh if he'd just left me there for dead. If he just had killed his girl a day earlier. If..." Oswald stopped himself, as he felt Victors arm around his shaking shoulders, pulling him in. He didn't fight the embrace, as tears, mixed with rain fell down on Victors weird bondage-style pants. That hitman clearly wasn't a man of style, he thought for a second, before he closed his eyes, pulling himself together.

"But he's been there... And he picked me up, nursed me back to life, drugged me, nursed me further and kept me there, against my will. It took a while for me until I could accept the situation. I was never a fan, of not being able to act at my free will. But he was right I was hurt, and a wanted man. So I adapted to the situation and got to know him. It was strange... he... he was the very first person who looked up to me. He saw me as some kind of role model, wanted me to become his mentor. Never in my life had someone looked at me the way he did...", Oswald added in a soft tone. "It was beautiful... Living with Ed had its perks, but I think we managed our first weeks together pretty well. Every time he looked at me, I could feel the wall I had built around me falling. For the first time, I started to build trust to another person. Of course we had not the time to deepen it that much yet. Because you know 'I" - he formed quotes with the fingers of his right hand "went to Arkham for the murder of the mayor'. A mayor who actually abducted and tortured the real mayor and was a plain super evil villain. Isn't it fun how this city works? And even so Jim Gordon actually put a bullet in Theos head I was sentenced guilty. But I could not let Jim take the guilt. He was a rightful man after all. And I thought... my friend. Maybe. Maybe a somehow. Plus after weeks on the streets I became so tired of running... I gave myself up. I was left all alone, running... No Ed looking after me, no Jim, no one... so I might as well get myself into custody. I remember Barnes face, being all heroic like if he'd done anything to this. I mean... I just walked into them on purpose. I learned to doubt my friendships... Ed promised me to take care of my mothers grave, but Jim didn't even care to listen to me, as I told him they were torturing me in Arkham. And to this day: He didn't once say he's sorry. They broke me in that asylum. Fried my brain and broke me entirely until nothing of me was left... With that devilish machine that makes you feel like hot lava is poured into your ripped open skull." Oswald shivered, the grip around the bottle tightening.

"But after all I got back out... Ed turned me down, because I changed... and... then I met my father. A kind man... but he was also taken from me... And I could feel that darkness in me rising. I promised him not to let the darkness overpower me, as it has so many before us in our family. A bitter darkness, of dark, depressing thoughts of murder and... suicide." Oswald swallowed hard, as he pressed his own fingernails in his palms, leaving bloody cuts. "I promised him, before his dead." His voice cracked in that moment, as he fumbled a vial with pills out of his pyjamas pocket and opened it. He took the last one out, shoved it in his mouth and swallowed it down with a big sip of vodka. Victor just watched him in absolute silence. Victors whole body became tense.

"So I simply murdered my step family and tried to move on with my life... ignoring that lingering darkness. I managed to get myself back up in Gotham, finally actually killed Galavan myself and well... put myself on the political stage. That's when I freed Ed from Arkham... Because... he still was the only friend I ever had...", Oswalds eyes showed how hurt he was, as he entered the most depressing chapter of his whole life. "For a while everything looked bright, you know... as if nothing could hurt us. No one could bring us down. Nothing could stop us." Tears dripped from Oswalds nose, he sniffed a couple of times. "It was empowering. I never felt so strong and happy in my life. My whole body felt entirely light and warm, every time I saw him. And when I actually won mayor, and he assured me that l-love... love... was stronger than money I think I noticed it for the first time... that this was more than friendship... way... more..." Oswald bit his lip, sniffing up a lot of snot. His voice cracking hard. "I knew I loved him, that moment he nearly was strangled by Butch... that genuine angst I had, that panic that he'd die... that's when I just knew. I couldn't hide it any longer from myself. That feeling had become so strong I had to admit it to myself. And it did nothing but grow, when I embraced it and accepted that this was happening. It took me way to long, to go forward with it... to try admit it out loud. That was the next step – and of course to tell him. I could not hold it in any longer. That feeling tore me apart. To watch him, right next to me, every second of my day... that voice in me screaming as loud as it could... That voice that longed for his love. For his touch. I had to tell him. It took me to long... a few failed attempts I asked him for a dinner. I was prepared... but he stood me up... I made a fool out of myself. Once again... I set there, waiting... all night long. Prepared what I wanted to say... Prepared to confess my love. I very rarely plan things that detailed but that I had. I had to. It felt as something was pulling the floor from under my feet. But he didn't show. He didn't even care to call me. He met someone. That night. Again... what.. are the odds?" Oswald crouched a little in Victors arm, his body started shaking heavily when he took another big sip from the bottle. Penguin looked like a mess, Victor thought. Carefully he stroke his back a little. Unsure what to do. He wasn't good in comforting people. He never had to before.

"Fortune favours shit.", he went on, wiping tears and snot from his face. "It all went down from this day on... I made the biggest mistake ever... I was selfish. I was so hurt that I had to get that woman out of the way. That crazy slut... she... had to go. But I really shouldn't have done this... I shouldn't... I took the woman he claimed to love from him and I ruined everything... When he tried to destroy me... nothing did as much damage as... as when I realized he actually didn't care for me... His last warm embrace felt so strange. So wrong. When he told me that I should remember that I was his best friend... little did I know... he and that band of baboons tried to lose my mind. And it felt like they managed, but mostly I was worried as hell about Ed, who was gone. All that play for revenge. Yeah, he achieved his goal. He took everything from me... He thought what I'd care about was my empire... and normally I'd have said it was... but not with him... with Ed in my life he was the striving force that pushed me forward – whilst for me only one was important: him. I was stupid and blind... The look in his eyes, as he attempted to kill me... All a play he acted, to make me gave him up, to prove a point... he really did hold a grudge... Killing his best friend, the man that loved him – for a woman, he knew a week, wasn't enough...", spit run over the lips of his pained face, as he struggled for air, during his sobbing. "He had to utterly destroy me... and he did... that moment, when he brought me to the docks, telling me he didn't love me, bidding me farewell and shooting me in the chest..." His hands let go of the bottle, as he grabbed for Victors leg, holding himself with strong force. The bald man chose to pull him even more into his arms, against his chest, stroking Oswalds back, who wept bitterly.

"Maybe he should have aimed for my heart..."

"No.", Victor broke his monologue for a second. Just one word, which brought Oswald back in track.

"Running from him, injured, trying to build an army, regaining my empire... and with a lot of luck tricking him into thinking that he had the upper hand... those were the hardest weeks of my life... I did not want to trick him... it broke my heart. Again. I died that day at the docks. As well as a part of Ed died. But when we returned there and I had him believe he'd have another chance on killing me... when his broken voice asked me if I hadn't have to say anything. When he bid me farewell again – and I knew this time it would be me... Playing him hurt me so much. And I knew he was only there because of his compulsive disorder. He didn't really want to kill me... when I dropped that bullets, I took out of the gun – revealing I only played him... the look in his eyes... it destroyed me. He had never thought that he maybe wasn't smarter than me. That thought never came to him... when the blindness that love caused left me, and only the pain remained I was finally able to act... he's right, I am a big child, throwing tantrums, driven by my basic emotions... but ain't that better as to have none at all? He's become so cold as 'the Riddler'..." Oswald shook the thought off, straitening himself a little and getting out of Victors arms.

"When I let Fries freeze him... I froze a big part of myself too. All that pain, love, sadness, I tried to freeze it in a big block of ice. And that feeling of dying inside it took over. That day, Victor... that day was the first, I realized something else thanks to Ed. Not only did I know I was capable of love... but... I knew I had that same feelings as my grandfather had. That lingering death-wish. That pain, that aching in my chest... That struggling for air. I tried to hide it away. I really tried. But I can't do this any further. I finally got things straightened out with myself. For the first time in my life. It's something I should have done centuries ago." Oswald pushed Victor farther from himself, as he stood up. Victor quickly followed and tried to close in on him, as suddenly Penguin put the barrel of his gun between the hitmans eyes. He was shocked and a little impressed about that reaction, at the same time. Oswald only shook his head, emptying the bottle and throwing it down into the river. He lost it immediately in the dark. The wind tried to push both of them off their feet. The rain felt even heavier than before. Oswalds long coat fluttered heavily in the air.

"Oswald, give me the gun."

"I think I won't. Don't move Vic. This' not a couple-suicide-thing here."

"Oswald. I won't let you do this."

"Back... OFF.", Oswald demanded in a now more harsh voice.  
"What was that pill you took before?", Victor asked, curious. He needed to distract Oswald, who was so fixed on the darkness.

"Sleeping Pills. I take them since Ed shot me. They knock me out pretty well... normally.", Oswald chuckled. "The fun in mixing them with alcohol – in an overdosed fashion, of course – is that they'll paralyse my body... in about... 5 minutes. Well, I put the whole vial in the bottle, on my way here..."

Victor tried to make a move towards Oswald and grab his hand, but he was surprisingly active and pulled back, hitting the Gun against Victors head, which brought Victor to his knees "DON'T! Or I'll have to shoot you.", Oswald hissed as Victor raised his hands in defense

"Oswald, please. I am your friend. I don't want you to die in front of me. I'm begging you!"

But Penguin only laughed weakly.

"Your mother wouldn't want you to do this, would she? And you just told me. You promised it to your father didn't you?" There was anger in Victors voice. Heavy wind was shaking both of them, pulling causing Oswald to slide. Victor took the chance and grabbed his bosses hand, which was holding the gun, slapped it out of his hand and kept him in a firm grip. But the small, pale man just laughed, leaning back to the brink, while holding Victors hand.

"No... but he'd want this.", Oswald said, putting his other hand over Victors. "I tried, Vic... Let... let me sleep...", he added in a weak and tired voice. The pills seemed to kick in heavy, as his hands started to shake heavily. The hand placed over Victors hands carefully stroke his back hand, before he pulled his fingers off of his other hand. "Farewell, friend." and then he'd just let go...

Victor made a quick jump for the brink, but it was too late. And he didn't see Oswald anywhere. Screaming in the dark. Silenced by the storm he noticed something. Was the Riddler standing down there next the river, in the dark? Him and some huge... dog... thing? But by the time Victor got down to the riverside no one was to be seen. Neither Oswald, nor Ed. All screaming unanswered. By morning police forces scanned the are around the river. But they were sure he'd been washed out into the ocean already. With no chances of survival... Jim stood next to Victor. Just one question bothering him: "Why...?"

 _End Chapter 1_


	2. Voices in the dark

**When the night is dark**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Voices in the dark**

Victor didn't move, his fists clenched his teeth biting his lip very hard, he was shaking a little – but not of the all filling, sneaky cold, but the anger he felt. "Why you ask?", he repeated Gordon in a pressed tone. "Because of people _like you._ "

Gordon didn't understand what Zsasz meant by this, and shrugged it off. "I'm only a copper, doing my job, Victor. It's been only a matter of time, that he'd take his life. He's always been unstable and-" Jim immediately aborted his little speech, as he stared into the barrel of a gun.

"Please. Go on. Give me a reason to shoot your bloody brains out.", Victor asked the captain of the GCPD in a very quiet and polite voice. Jim raised his hands in a defensive manner.

"Wow, Victor, calm down. You don't want to shoot me in front of the whole GCPD. Do you? Do you even realise what big of a favour to Oswald it is, that I got that many men out here, on the search for his corpse? He's Gothams major crime-lord not the mayor, at least not any more. Normally nobody would be searching that large of an area for the corpse of a gangster."

Victor slowly released the safety catch of his gun.

"Yeah, I think compared to your search-party last time Oswald went missing, WHEN HE WAS SHOT", he shouted angrily, "this is quite an extensive search. One might think you're more interested to make sure he's really dead than you were keen to rescue our mayor, after a night of havoc and terror. This may just throw a slightly bad light at the GCPD, Jim. One may think your actions aren't as pure as you're trying to sell them." In Victors voice resonated some dangerous accusation.  
"Watch your words, Victor.", Gordon answered, grabbing the barrel to pull the gun down.

"What...? Are we afraid of the truth? Wouldn't be the first time, would it, Gordon? - but maybe you just have a thing for dead mayors – if former, or freshly elected."

Gordon immediately pulled his own gun. "What did you just say?"

"I said that if you and your cops would have done your god damn job, Oswald pretty sure would still be mayor. And maybe we now wouldn't stand here."

"Watch your mouth, Victor, I'm warning you."

"Oh, fuck you Gordon.", he relocked his gun and put it away. "You're so full of shit. I kinda regret not finishing the job, before Falcone pulled it off.", Victor mentioned in a very dry voice as he turned away from Gordon. But enough was enough. Jim pushed the hitman down, and fixated him in a wristlock.

"Victor Zsasz you're arrested on the suspicion of the murder of Oswald Cobblepot."

"WHAT? You got to be kidding me, Jim!"

"You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.", the captain went on.

"You're not seriously arresting me now!? You're wasting my precious time to save Oswald, Gordon. What ever Nygma's planning..."

"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

"Are you even listening!?"

Jim pushed Victors face in the mud.  
"I can hear you pretty well, Victor. But at this given time – you're the only witness, to a suicide without a body." Gordon pulled the hitman up and pushed him into a car.

"Don't worry, if your friend really is still alive us - the police will find him. That's what we do. If not he'll be washed ashore someday. And from what I heard: I wouldn't waste much thoughts on Nygma. Cause he hasn't many of his own any more. At least not brilliant ones."

As if that was comforting Victor in any way. His answer was a sneery hissing at the stupid words.

Jim slammed the door shut, and took Oswalds personal killer back to the station. He just had enough with all that gangster playing the rulers of Gotham – and acting as if they were superior to the GCPD. The hitman surely hit a nerve, after the debacle with Harvey. And it was true: With Oswald he wasn't on good terms right now. But wasn't that how it was supposed to be? After all Jim was a cop – more so, the captain of the GCPD – and Penguin a dangerous criminal that managed to control the whole city, including the police. Jim sighed. But after all, Oswald did him many favours – and Jim believed in the good of him, which he knew existed. Which he saw. He knew Cobblepot. The psychopathic murderer and crime boss – but also the kind, loving and emotional man that would do everything for the people near to him. His eyes wandered to the rear-view mirror, to find Victor staring out of the window, with a very tense body language. That's when Gordon stopped the car. "Tell me more about that huge dog-like-human, you claimed you saw next to Nygma."

Oswald slowly lifted his way to heavy eyelids, narrowly blinking. Blazing light blinded him, as he awoke. A pain filled groan left his dry, bursted lips. Strands of his hair fell over his eyes, which he tried to blow away. Where was he? Did he die? Wherever he was: he lay there in total silence. What had happened? It took him a second to remember, but finally his memories returned short after. The bridge. Right... he tried to commit suicide. Did Victor manage to stop him? No. He couldn't. Oswald remembered losing his hitmans grasp. He remembered falling, when his body went limp and numb, because of the medication. He even remembered hitting the roaring surface of Gotham River – and sinking below. He remembered water filling his mouth, nose and finally his lungs... It took him way to long to lose his consciousness. But that's it, after that: Only darkness. Cold. Pain. Silence. And then nothing. He had to be dead. Because now Oswald felt completely dry and warm. He wasn't sweating like after any other nightmare he awoke of, so – was this heaven? Or more likely hell? But why did it feel so comfortable just lying here? Was he in... a bed? When he suddenly recognized music being played. He knew that sound. And that voice which sang along.

"The fire has gone out, wet from snow above...

But nothing will warm me more, than my, my mother's love.

I light another candle, dry the tears from my face."

Oswald tried to raise a hand to his eyes, to cover them from the light to see what's going on around him. But he noticed immediately that he couldn't. His hands were chained down, next to him, with very few space left to move. His eyes widened in panic. He started to struggle.

„Nothing can protect me more than my mother's warm embrace...

The path ahead is dark, so dark I cannot see..."

This was bad. This was **really** bad. Oswald tried to sit up, he fought the chains, which pinned him down, but he didn't stand a chance. The light still was too bright, he only saw white... His eyes narrowed as he raised his head to search the room...

"But I will not fear 'cause my mother looks over me."

That was when his eyes met with Nygmas. He stood at the end of the bed, bent over him, hands pressed into the bed, next to Oswalds legs to support himself. He was way to close. On those lips, beneath the dark brown, eyes of a killer formed an evil smirk.

"Hello, Oswald."

Edward greeted him in his well known, manner.

Something of pure darkness rested in his voice. Oswalds ice blue eyes stared at him in disbelieve – and panic. Even his pupils were shaking at the sight in front of him. Dressed all in green, in his eyes a more demonic look than ever. And cold. That deep, warm brown eyes radiated nothing but cold, even so his lips were entangled into that weird and creepy smile. Even if he wanted to, not a single sound left Oswalds dry throat. He was completely paralysed, as he pulled his eyes away from Nygma, to have a look around. The room looked astonishingly similar to Edwards old flat, in which he once nursed him back to life. With some small differences: The room had no windows. None ate all. Only concrete. This wasn't a real room, but some strange kind of replica. Was this supposed to be a prison? Or a torture-room? Ed really did hit that rebuilding. He didn't miss a detail. Some flat version of the green billboard, which stood in front of his window, illuminating one half of the room in a deep green. The piano, that Zelda-Plate next to it, with the lights on. Everything was exactly the same, narrowed down to even the slightest details, like the bedsheets. Those sheets were exactly the same as those, under which he awoke in the original room. Okay, this now started to utterly freak him out. Has he now gone totally nuts?

It took Oswald a while to start speaking. His voice was coarse, his mouth dry, as he started:

"What the hell, Ed?"

The Riddler seemed pretty much gleeful about this, clapping his hands in joy, laughing weirdly as ever. "Isn't this pretty, Oswald? This is your new home.

"Wait, what? You're not all there, are you, Ed?", Penguin doubted the sanity of his former best friend – who immediately grabbed his jaw, in a very firm grip.

"Don't be such an ungrateful, spoiled brat, Oswald.", the Riddler hissed against his face. "You could as well be dead right now."

He was too close. Oswald felt Eds breath on his lips, who slowly stroke his right cheek in a very weird manner. Edward enjoyed seeing the panic in his counterparts blue eyes. He just loved the way Penguin looked as if he would burst into tears any second now.

"Relax, it's for your own safety, if you don't struggle. You have been grievously injured.", Ed now nearly murmured, causing the other man to try to get as far away from him as possible. Which wasn't very far. Only as far as his arms reached, then he was stopped by the chains. Which meant, me more or less was lying again. The crime-boss shut his eyes, as hard as possible. In hope, that when he opened them again Nygma was gone... but he wasn't. On the contrary: Ed had climbed above him, Staring down at his face. Again: Way too close. But now Oswald couldn't flee any further. He just pressed down his head into the pillow, trying to at least escape a little.

"You are as rude as always, Oswald. How about a 'thank you, for saving me, Ed?' No? Nothing? Really? Okay." That's when he suddenly slapped Cobbplepots right cheek with brutal force. Leaving a bloody stain on his lips. A surprised yelp had left the prisoners mouth, followed by a suppressed whimper. Just to find his jaw once again wedged between Edwards fingers. "I don't want to hurt you, Oswald. Don't make me punish you for your behaviour.", his words nearly were as soft as Penguin remembered them to be. A long time ago, in the mansion, when they lived together. A single tear left the corner of his eye and met the fingers, holding him vice-like. For a second this seemed to irritate his captor, but he very quickly returned to his routin:

"Don't ignore me, Oswald."

"...Why...?", he asked with a crackled voice.

"Well. This **may** sound crazy at start.", Ed made a wide gesture with his hands, as he started telling. "But I thought about what happened, and about all our time together. And well: You're right, I need to finish things in the exact same fashion as I started them.", he smirked. "So I decided to do this all over again. Grant us a new start. For our friendships sake. And... to once again become the man I was meant to be. That man I only ever was..." he closed in even more. Their lips were nearly touching, when Ed whispered: "When I was with you."

Then he immediately jumped the bed, leaving Oswald completely confused, with his heart racing and beating as if it wanted to leave his chest.

"I knew that you wouldn't be as excited about this, as I am – at the start. - But I know the idea will grow to you. And if you ever try to flee I'll let my friend Grundy here, crush your skull.", Edward laughed way to expansive about what he said, as he revealed some... what was **this**? Strange monster-man? Wait a second, was this Butch Gilzean? Painted in green with a new haircut? The hell was this thing!?

"Butch!?", blurted the question over his lips. A question that seemed to anger the Riddler.

"Grundy, may you please leave us alone and wait outside, thank you my friend."

"BUTCH!? What's he done to you!?", Oswald shouted, as the big, monster-double of Butch left the room without any further hesitation. "The hell, Ed? I mean he's always been… mouldable, but to make monster out of Butch? Seriously!?"

"Would you please shut up, Oswald.", Eds harsh voice stopped Oswald from going on, "I didn't turn him into a monster. I merely found him, And.. helped him through a hard time. Because that's what friends do. They help each other and don't go off, killing their girlfriends." Ed started to nearly spit the words, near the end.  
Penguin only rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

"Oh no, it IS this again. You killed her, Oswald!"

"So much for a 'new start'" He tried to make some quotes along, but ended up doing them into the covers.

"Why can't you even try, to be a decent human being, Oswald? Why needs everything be commented by a dismissive eye-roll?" Nygma seemed to be a little angry, Penguin thought. As he turned his eyes from him. "You'll never change, will you?"

"Oh I changed. And you too as it seems: into some weird, totally nuts psychopath. Probably still dumb as a stump, cause you didn't throw me any crazy riddles yet and – well – who in his right mind - would think of something like that?", Oswald laughed. But not for long, as Edward jumped over and grabbed him by the collar. His eyes now filled with hate.

"Maybe I should just finally end your life.", Ed hissed, as he slid his fingers around Oswalds neck.  
"That, what ever crazy scenario this is, looks like a lot of effort to pull off, for just killing me now, doesn't... it...?", Penguin slightly smiled in a provoking way, as he started to struggle for breath, coughing the last words more pressed and troubled.

 _/Come on Eddie. Just do it already./_ , Ed's imaginary doppelgänger did not yet stand next to him, but his voice returned to his head. _/Break that stupid birds neck already./_ Nygma shook the thought off, as he released Oswalds neck again. His lips already coloured in a slightly blue touch – the small man started to cough heavily and gasp for breath. Without any further words, Edward took a water bottle from the nightstand, opened it and downright forced the water down Oswalds throat. "Dehydration is dangerous.", was the only thing Edward noted, as he pulled a syringe out of the drawer, preparing it for injection.

Cobblepot still tried to swallowed the water, as he noticed what Edward was doing.  
"Wait, no! Don't! You're not yourself, this might be dang-"

Nygma put his hand over Oswalds mouth, pushing his head to the side, as he injected a calming drug in his veins.  
"Don't worry... I feel like the man I lost is coming back for you, Oswald.", Ed smiled as he stroke the swollen cheek he hit before. "So maybe you'd have been better off, with freezing 'not even Ed Nygma', when you had the chance."

Penguin struggled to keep his eyes opened, as he became dizzy.

"What... 've u done..."

"With a little help from our all time favourite Doctor, Lee Thompkins and some trigger events... I'm becoming myself again. And you – Mr. Penguin – are a significant key indicator in all of these scenarios..." Edward just sat there. Next to him, watching his former friend doze off. "I may just have to push a little harder."

/It'll be my pleasure to crush that bird, with my own hands, once I'm back in charge, Eddie. Don't worry. It will be horrific./, the hallucinated voice laughed. _/What is based on previous actions and feels relieving for one, but horrible for another?/_ \- "Revenge."

Oswald was fast asleep, as Ed started to talk to himself, as he once used to do... Chuckling, talking, discussing, They started to get along very fast. Edward hated that stupid version of himself. He was supposed to be the smartest person. And he was supposed to be smarter than Oswald, yet he always outsmarted him. This was nagging on his ego. Something that had to stop. He had to become himself again. He had to take revenge. But something in him threw a more longing and way more softer look over to sleeping Oswald. Something he forbade himself immediately, when he turned off the lights.

 _End of Chapter 2_


	3. I don't like you

When the night is dark

Chapter 3

I don't like you

Oswald didn't know how many days may have passed. When he awoke again his neck and face hurt. But he couldn't even touch himself in the face, without bending his back in a nearly impossible way. Nonetheless: This wasn't what nagged him the most. It was Nygma standing in that perfect replica of his hold kitchen, doing dishes and preparing something to eat, whistling cheerful. Years ago Oswald could have watched Ed like this all day. Now it sickened him. Edward returned to the bedside with toast on a plate, which he placed, without any further comment, on Oswalds lap who gave him a 'what the hell!?' look.

"How am I supposed to eat that?" , he finally asked, after a few attempts to get the toast into his fingers.

Nygma returned to him and placed the toast in Oswalds hand. "Do I also need to feed you, like the little baby you are?" Penguins right eye twitched on that question, but he didn't intend to start another fight – since he was goddamn hungry. So he only pressed a "thanks." through his grinding teeth and stretched for the toast in his hand. Yet he only reached the crust, desperately nibbling on what he could get to his lips. Oswald swore to himself, that he'd make Ed pay for this. He wanted to humiliate him in a similar way. Edward watched the other man with amusement in his eyes. It was too much fun watching him in such despair for a little bread.

"Are you sure I don't need to feed you?", he asked in a condescending way.  
"If you'd give my arms a little more freedom I could eat all on my own without a problem."

"That's not gonna happen.", Ed answered and went to his desk, to work through some papers.

"You know – I have heard, that you're into role-play nowadays, but this? This surely takes the cake, Ed. It's a little over the top, maybe."  
"This is not a role-play, Oswald. I am still me – and you are as annoyingly arrogant as always."

"Right, yeah it's about that obsession you have of me."

"I am NOT obsessed by you. Stop talking", Ed hissed.

"Right. Cause dressing up as me and making a little show, to get my attention, your eternal revenge plan - and what ever this weird scenario here is, are for sure no signs of an obsession. Yeaaah.", laugend Oswald, eyes rolling.

Nygma nearly leapt over back to the bed. His stern eyes focussing Oswald in anger.  
"Stop. Talking. I am a dangerously intelligent man. You wouldn't even know what my mind is capable of. You can't understand. So that's not your fault you-"

"Sure, dangerous you are. As dangerous as any totally mental psychopath is. Maybe I should have let you rot in Arkha-"

Oswalds words froze in his throat, as he suddenly gasped for air. Eds fingers were once again pressed around his neck, pushing his throat in a dangerous way. Penguins hands waved in a desperate attempt to defend himself.

"Now you really do look like a penguin.", Ed mocked the man he was strangling. Only when Oswalds eyelids began to flicker he let go, causing him to fall back into the sheets. Silent tears made their way down Oswalds cheeks, to his ears and finally soaking into the pillow. Ed just sat there next to him, watching his every move.

"I told you I didn't want to hurt you." In a soothing way Edwards long fingers combed through the black sweaty hair. "You're making it really hard for me, to restart our friendship."

A sentence which caused the other man's lips to release a muffled, crackling laugh, Did Ed really think they'd be friends again? Like... ever? He kept him hostage here and mistreated him. And – not to forget – he shot him, tried to do it all over again and even to kill him with acid. So... in which scenario would he ever want to befriend that man again? To Penguin it didn't matter anymore how strong his feelings may have been or still were. For sure you'd never forget your first love. You will never truly and completely un-love true love. But you for sure as hell will be smart enough to never let that person that near to you. It didn't matter that those feelings would linger in his heart forever. This feelings made him weak. This feelings did hurt him and nearly destroyed his life. This feelings made him wanna kill himself. A part in Oswald would always love Edward Nygma. But that part had become very silent and small during the last year. He was smarter now. He didn't need Ed any more. He didn't need his approval, his love, his touch, his affinity. Nygma put him through hell. He rejected his love, he made his life a living hell for a while and was now once back at it again. No. Oswald had made his point. He twisted his mouth a little, to a scoffing smile.

"You can take your friendship and shove it up your ass, Edward."

Maybe that wasn't the best answer, for the punch that hit his face was similar to the force of a car, crashing a wall – a punch that nearly knocked Oswald out. The world became a little dizzy for him and his ice-blue eyes had trouble focussing anything. He really took a hit there.  
"I will teach you to behave, my friend." In Eds voice lay no emotions. Once again he departed from the bed, to do some work. Oswald probably wouldn't talk for a while anyway.

The rusty taste of blood. Once again that blazing light that felt as if it would stab his eyes. That rusty taste running back into the throat caused a heavy cough. Spitting. Coughing. Struggling for air. His throat hurt. It felt heavily bruised. Salt mixed itself to the rust. It were tears relentlessly running down the cold skin, now making their way for the shaking, burst lips. The tears burned a little, but finally the feeling went numb. It took Oswald really long to recover himself from that hit, and he felt sick, once he was able to see his surroundings once again. He felt like he had to vomit. It seemed as if Ed one-punched him a concussion. 'Impressive', Os thought for a second, as he tried to sit up again, He only now noticed the toast, squished in his fist and sighed. Not as if he could take a bite now any more. But Oswald wouldn't be him, if he wouldn't just keep going, the second he was able to talk again. It took him quite a while. Too much blood had his mouth filled and kept him from speaking, for a while. The sheets before him resembled a murder scenario. Kinda fitting, he thought.

"Y'now, 'really like 'e new u...", he sluggishly started. Spat blood onto his legs, and moved on: "The brute one. 'sssurprisingly fitting." Oswald again spat blood, blinking the pain away that tried to take over his head. "'Suits you more than the smart one... less... annoying riddles." His voice became a little better again. At least for now. Probably when the swelling started he wouldn't be able to speak at all – by all means it surely felt like this. Whilst his little monologue he didn't notice Ed was sitting at his table, his fists clenched, his eyes pointed at Oswald in sheer anger. It seemed as if Penguin kept on going, maybe just one more sentence Ed would probably just pull a gun and shoot him. But he couldn't see Nygma, since his vision still was severely blurred. "But maybe we should start finding a new name for you... how 'bout something like the... Brute-ler? Or... Slapler? Maybe also the strangler? Or..." Oswald once again immediately stopped talking as he realised a shadow rising over him. Edward's been dangerously silent. He still didn't really see what was happening, but it was obvious that a belt started to choke him,

"Nghnnnooo" was the only thing that resembled a word, which left Penguins lips for the next minutes to come. Again desperately waving his hands to defend himself against his attacker. Suddenly he felt Eds knee pressing against his chest, pushing him back into the sheets – and keeping him there. Suddenly: Oswald was able to move at least one arm freely. Panicked he started to slap in Eds direction, tried to push the bigger man off him, to grab his face. Unfortunately the crime-boss wasn't a man of brutal force and hence that no man of bodily strength and additionally he was down to a level where he nearly had no power to move himself at all. He was so exhausted. His fingers finally found rest in Edwards collar, clenching themselves in there, as if he was falling off a cliff and this was his last hold, before falling into certain death. He didn't even try to grab for the belt in his panic. And now it felt as if life was leaving his body. And for sure: It was. The world seemed to be far away. Numb. Only nothingness. He felt warmth in front of himself, as if it was his last connection to the world. Edward pulled Oswalds fingers off his collar and re-chained him in a new position, both hands together, above his head. Afterwards he released the pressure against the small chest underneath his knee and eased the tension, in which he held the belt slung around Oswalds neck. As the smaller man against started to cough heavily, once again gasping for air, he brutally grabbed his black hair, pulling him to his own face.  
"Careful, the loss of air might leave you brain-dead one day, If you carry on behaving like this." The Riddler noted. And it has been him. Oswald knew it. He knew the look in Eds eyes. That wasn't Edward Nygma. He seemed to be reunited with his manic self. Yet he still kept provoking him: "Fuck you. Ed~", he whispered in a broken, merely recognizable voice. He knew that calling the Riddler Edward would drive him crazy. And he was right. Enough was enough. The hand in his hair yanked his head back down into the pillows – but now he forced his face into the pillow, coercing Oswalds body to follow – which left him completely exposed, and helpless lying prone. What was happening? The smaller man wasn't even really there, let alone in any position to realise, what Nygma did – what was about to happen what he had to endure... He noticed his old friends heavy weight on him, keeping him down. Not as if he could move any way. Penguin hadn't even the strength to verbally protest. He just tried to get his senses together. To realise what was happening to him. The heat, the heavy breathing in his ear. The icy blue eyes felt shut. He felt so tired. What was Ed doing anyway? He was so silent, despite his weird moaning, despite his breathing. And suddenly – now eyes wide shut – Oswald seemed to realise what Ed was doing, He felt it. He felt something pressing against him, that he didn't want to feel. And if he was never hit by him, he screamed at Ed, in full power. "THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?"

But Ed just pushed his face down. "Don't destroy this moment. Isn't it, what you ever wanted? Me?", he laughed, as he ripped down Oswalds Pyjama – who definitely put new life into himself, starting to fight as he pretty sure never fought someone before. "GET OFF OF ME!", he screamed as he started to kick the air behind Edward.

"Throwing another tantrum? Really?", Ed sighed and paused for a second. His eyes examined every detail. With his free hand he stroke, nearly carefully the white skin underneath him. "You are beautiful, do you even know that?"

The hand left goosebumps all over Penguins body. But definitely not in enjoyment. Panic had filled his body and soul, He had to get out of this situation. He had to shake Ed off. This could not happen. This could not happen to him! He never liked to be touched. He never wanted to be seen by anyone. He was ashamed of himself. He didn't like the Idea of getting close than a fully clothed hug to anyone. He never felt attracted to anyone in a sexual way. His love for Edward's always been pure at heart. This was an dirty act, it was shameful. He didn't want it consensual. And he sure as hell didn't want this like this. Oswald felt as if he was about to throw up. The thought made feel him sicker than the concussion did. "STOP! STOP TOCUCHING ME. STOP THIS!", he screamed. His panic didn't leave him very eloquent. Tears started flooding his eyes and face.

"Relax. Jeeze. I'm merely looking at you.", Ed stated in a disparaging voice. He shook his head, with a dark laugh at his lips. "Seriously, how did you imagine you and me being in love? I am a man Oswald. Unlike you, obviously. Crying like a child. Not really that sexy."

It was as if he didn't listen to Ed at all. Penguin kept bending, kicking, fighting, crying. He didn't even notice how bad his knee must have been hurting in this moment. It felt like a fight for life or death right now. "GET OFF! YOU SICK BASTARD, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Edward sighed, as he pushed the crying face into the pillows again, hushing the screams and closing in the belt around Oswalds neck again. "You can't even properly beg, Oswald, can you?", he whispered in his ear, pushing his hand between Penguins breast and the bed, keeping him very close in his arms and his back against his own breast. "Your body is all cold.", Ed noticed. That's when his hands realised that the heavy and fast movements from where they rested just stopped. "Oh, dear." in a fast move he pulled Cobblepot back around and immediately got rid of the belt. "Ohhhh dear.", he talked to himself. Edward Nygma had kicked in again. "What have you done to him!", he at first had to scold his dark self. Then he checked for signs of life within Oswalds body, listening for breath, for his heart, simultaneously checking his pulse – which was low, Very low. But present. Or wasn't it? Edward nearly panicked. This was Kristen all over again.

He tried to pull himself together, this wasn't over yet! And even so he felt as if he was stupid, he still knew the human body from his work in the field of forensics and immediately started to revive his former friend, releasing his hands from the chains first. Penguins hands fell lifeless onto the sheets.

"Don't die on me know.", Nygma whispered more to himself, pressing his lips against Oswalds, as he pushed air down into his lungs. "Come on now. Don't..." His voice was nearly begging.

 _/Look at him. What a wuss, passing out right before the best minutes of his unfulfilled life even started!/_ , the Riddler laughed.

"He didn't pass out, you chocked him. He's NOT BREATHING, you IDIOT!", Ed spit, as he pushed all his weight against Oswalds breast.

 _/You think I am the Idiot? Look at you, reviving your enemy – even so I'm already here, again. This. This is what will us let merge again, Eddie. His death will make us whole again../_

"Please don't die...", Edward begged, ignoring his alter egos voice, as he once again pressed air into Oswalds lungs. Tears started to blurr his vision, as he repeated himself once again. Did he lose him? Did his dark side finally push all life out of that small body? As Ed loosened his lips from Cobbleppots tears dripped onto the pale cheeks, and suddenly he reared up, soaking air deep into his lungs. The weak body was immediately pulled against a strong, shaking chest, as he fell into a bad coughing. What did just happen?  
"Thank god, you're alive, Oswald!", Ed whined in a relieved tone.

 _/Pathetic./_

"I thought I've lost you.." Edwards voice was so soft. No sign of that rough sound he normally had. This Person sounded... just like... the ice blue eyes widened again. Was this possible? What did even happen? Everything did happen so fast, it took Oswald a while to sort his thoughts, Despite that he still fought for air. Nygmas fingers intertwined with the black hair, supporting his head from falling down, keeping Penguins face right at his breast. Where he could feel the fast, panicked heartbeat of his former chief of staff. Weak grabbed his fingers the green coat, as if he was in doubt with himself if he wanted to embrace the hug. Nygma pulled him higher, sitting himself up, which caused Oswald to kinda lie on his legs now. As if they were lovers, in a warm embrace. He could feel and see the thin fingers, softly touching his cheeks, It made Cobblepot nervous. But for now: He didn't say word. His own fingers clenched themselves in the green fabric. Now he remembered. He remembered what the Riddler just tried and his shoulders started shaking. He never felt as afraid as he did now. He knew he couldn't upset Edward, in pure fear that "he" returned to finish his "work"... But neither did he want to be held by him in this moment. Even so it came as a warm embrace, soft, kinda loving, with genuine sorrow in Eds eyes and voice. But Penguin felt ashamed. He felt sick and afraid. He didn't want to be touched – yet he couldn't move a muscle, but clench his fingers so hard into the green, shiny fabric, that he nearly ripped it. 'Please let me go...', he begged in his thoughts, not saying a word, as he felt Edwards tears fall down onto his face – now mixing with his own. What was this supposed to be? Some kind of crazy game again?

Suddenly he felt a pair of warm, shaking lips kissing his forehead.

"I am so sorry, Oswald. I will never let this happen again." Edwards voice was shaky as he dug his nose in the black hair. He couldn't let this ever happen again. This wasn't him. THIS WASN'T HIM. And this was nothing he wanted to happen to Oswald. They may have separated. He may hold his grudge. But Penguin had been his best friend. And he still meant a great deal to Edward. Despite that: Why would he even want to rape a man?

 _/You can pretend all you want, Edward. I know you want this to happen. You want his body bent in lust beneath yours. You are a pathetic, weak liar./_

"I promise... I wont let this ever happen again. I promise..."


	4. The way you hate me

_**Preface:**_

Due to current circumstances i wanted to share a few words in beforehand, since one of the main subjects of this story is suicide and depression.

If you struggle with depression and especially if you're dealing with suicidal thoughts seek help. Talk to people close to you. Seek professional help. Don't chose the easy way out - There will always be people loving you. People who'll you leave behind. You are not alone and you don't need to be alone. Don't give up, get help.

And now please enjoy the next chapter

 **When the night is dark**

 **Chapter 4**

 **The way you hate me**

No word left the thin, rough and burst lips. For hours. After a while even the shaking had stopped. Only tears kept streaming down the white, hurt skin. But not a single word, nor even a sound was made by Oswald. Nothing. As if he was dead, if it wasn't for the tears, and his soft breathing. Ed didn't let him go either. He held him close in his arms, as to keep him safe. But how could anyone hold someone safe when he himself was the danger? He couldn't. And he couldn't see it. He didn't see what happened right below his nose. But it was visible. It happened in total silence. Oswald died. Not his body, but his mind. Ed finally broke him. He overstepped a line he didn't expect him ever to overstep. He didn't expect anyone to... One may say 'nothing really happened', but it did. It did happen. And if he didn't just stop breathing The Riddler would have brought it to an end. That despicable thing he was about to do. It wasn't about what happened any more, but about what he was capable of. The man that now clung to him as one would to a life belt may have been the man he once fell in love with. But the darkness inside of him had won. This all consuming darkness. That pure evil. Oswald never thought of himself as to be evil. Calculating - maybe, overly emotional - sure but never evil. There are borders in life you never cross. It didn't matter how many times Edward mumbled into his hair that he was sorry. In the contrary. It made it even worse. Why didn't he just step away? He didn't want to be near him. He didn't want to smell him, feel him – why wouldn't he just let him go? His thoughts went darker again, more focussed on himself. Why didn't he just drive off that bridge? Why couldn't he just have shot himself in the solitary of his living-room? Why had he needed to be so extra and dramatic? And how did Ed even know...? What were the odds (stupid) Nygma would be there, to fish him out of the water, to nurse him back alive? How... did he know?

"How'd you know?" he suddenly asked. His first question since hours. His voice dry as sandpaper.

A question that took Ed by surprise. "What do you mean?", he replied, relieved that Penguin had finally said something.

"...I was going to kill myself. That day. That place."

Edward froze at those words. His fingers unwittingly fondled the bent back beneath his arms. Oswald seemed so small compared to him, he noticed. He'd never seen the other man that... vulnerable. Somehow seeing his former friend that broken actually did hurt him. Sunk in his own thoughts it took him a while to answer. He felt so uncomfortable. Those words... '...I was going to kill myself...'

"I didn't." Nygma finally answered. "It was only a feeling. I knew you weren't well. And I thought if you'd do anything stupid it would be that night. I thought this would be one of a few nights in which you may be overly dramatic and emotional", Ed shrugged "So... I just kept an eye on you. I waited outside the mansion... and as you left I simply followed." Ed looked down at Oswald, who's dark hair fell lanky over his lowered eyelids. "Pretty sure my real self would have known. But to me: following you was my only option."

"All for revenge?"

Edward froze. His fingers stopped fondling on Oswalds back. "No." Slowly he lowered his head into those black strands of hair and got his lips near Penguins right ear. "I can't let you die." - and once more: He switched. "I need you alive, to become whole again." It was obvious. His voice had turned a whole lot darker and gravelly. This was the voice of the Riddler. Although he noticed the change, Oswald didn't even flinch.

"Back to finish what you've started?", he merely asked, in a sound of no emotions at all. His head still lowered he felt those strong fingers slightly swipe over his chin, until they eventually pushed Cobblepots head up again. The Riddler wanted to look into his enemies eyes.

"Not yet.", Edward smiled, as he surprisingly carefully touched those burst lips, which he loved to hear scream and to see twisted. Once again he appeared to be lost in his thoughts for a moment, as his hand wandered deeper, to Oswalds throat, to those red weals he left there... softly his fingers slipped around this thin neck, which would be so easy to break. Through that pale skin he could feel Penguins pulse softly throbbing. But the speed kept on a disappointing low level. To him this wasn't acceptable any more. He needed to feel the panic, he wanted to smell it, he yearned to see it in those blue eyes. Oswald had to look at him as if he was a nightmare he couldn't force himself to wakeup from. But now this man barely even noticed his existence. His lids half shut, almost bored. Anger rose in the riddlers heart.  
"Say my name!", he demanded.

"Edward."

"No. That's not my name any more. You know that. Say my name." Edwards eyes turned darker at that moment.  
"Your name is Edward Nygma. Always was. Always will be." Oswalds responded in a bored manner. He was tired of playing this stupid game. And he sure as hell would never say that stupid name. Ever. Even as the strong fingers choked his throat in shivering anger he kept a straight face. Why couldn't he just stop? Or at least finish this utterly idiotic charade?

"No! My name's the Riddler! You know that! SAY IT!", Edward spit in the tired face which he pulled so close to his own, that he could feel Cobblepots unagitated breath on his own lips. The former mayor suddenly tried to avert his gaze, deeply sighing.  
"Will you kill me afterwards?", he now wanted to know. Oswald was so sick of this, he didn't want to fight him, he didn't need to win. He had won already. A long time ago. Putting Ed on ice, destroying his entire persona. That moment he had won. Now a shadow of a once great man sought revenge. A shadow with an annoying obsession for him. A shadow that'd haunt him eternally. A shadow of a past he did regret. He was sure now: in reality himself had been the one he'd put on ice.

"Is this what you wish for?"

"I only wish I could turn back time. And avoid ever running into you. Avoid falling in love with you. Avoid making you the man you are. That's what I wish for."

A strange smile lay on Oswalds thin lips, as he softly raised his hands to Edwards cheeks, caressing them. "...but that's not possible. So... dying 's the next best thing. So... yes.", he finally answered properly, as he pushed himself a little towards Ed, stealing a kiss from his lips – which definitely took him by surprise. Nygmas fingers immediately let go of Penguins neck, as he backed away.  
"What do you think you're doing!?", he wanted to know.

"Giving in on your stupid games. So... let's play." The small man closed in again, following Ed on every inch and step he tried to get away. He didn't even notice that they'd left the bed while he retreated, closing in on the wall. Only as Oswald pushed his hands left and right from him against it, nailing him there. That small man never seemed intimidating to him – this was a first. Edward din't even recognize the man in front of him. No smile. No warmth in the sea of blue his eyes were. No feeling at all. Only his gestures resembled the man he knew. Was this the man he truly was inside? The man that's put a fork in someone's head? The man that would club someone to death and shove an umbrella down his throat? Did this man truly have another face, hidden deep down beneath a surface of overly acted smiles, sarcastic comments and eye-rolling? A man without fear? Edward would never admit this to himself, but he felt a strange heat rising up inside of him – and mostly somewhere around his loin. Was this even possible? Did the sight of a man – no – this man as cold, as cruel and calculating as he acted now turn him on? Did Oswald just play a game with him right now? Was this his true face which he'd never shown him, as long as he had loved him? A face he probably had never shown to anyone? Did he just reveal himself? Or did Edward make him that man? Did it only just happen? It was a mystery. He had to know!

"Who... are you?", was the only confused question he could make up, when he noticed a very dangerous smile on the man in front of him.

"Me? I am the man that has no feelings to offer you, at all.", Oswald whispered, as he closed in even further, pushing his own body against Edwards. For his height he was strong and managed to nail that tall body against the wall. Again reaching for Eds lips, opened in confusion, as it seemed. But he stopped right before they met.

"Don't be surprised. That's a first for me, either.", Oswald whispered, as his nose touched the other man's, being vague whether he was talking about being emotionless or about kissing. The Riddler didn't even dare to move at that sight. He felt himself in a position he didn't like but yet strangely enjoyed, going by the traction he noticed between his own legs and the heat flushing his cheeks. What was this? What was going on with him? He wanted to have this man scream. He wanted him bent and flinching, he wanted to see his pain no matter what the cost. If anything he wanted to satisfy himself on Oswalds suffering. This was a kind of lust he did not expect. Their lips didn't touch, yet the speed of his breath increased heavily by the thought of it. That was not right. He did not want to kiss Penguin. Neither romantically nor erotically and yet he yearned for the touch of them. That's when he pushed Oswald away, with brutal force. That sudden movement backwards made him stumble over his bad knee – and fall hard to the floor. Nygma soaked air through his grinding teeth, clenching his fists.

"How dare you?" He jumped him, pushed the small body heavily to the ground and fixed him there. "You're not in the position to act like this, Oswald." But the small man just smiled, calculating.

"I know, I know", Cobblepot merely sighed. "You want to take the lead in this so badly. You have to compensate quite a lot, don't you?" A dry laugh left those so tempting lips. But they surely weren't tempting enough as the Riddler struck them without any mercy.  
"Shut up! You want to provoke me, so I'll kill you?", Ed hissed as he rose his fist above Oswalds head, of whose mouth blood was streaming already. But he only laughed. "SHUT UP!", His fist rushed down. Smashed into the ground right next to the crime-lords head – who felt a blow but didn't even flinch.

"Stop looking at me like this. STOP IT!", Edward nearly screamed. He couldn't take this. He knew that man. They'd been best friends. He knew him inside out. But _him_ he didn't know. He wanted Oswalds eyes to be filled with emotions. "Love me, hate me. I don't care, but don't be... nothing." Edwards voice turned softer, nearly pleading. That cranky voice was finally leaving, bringing back the man Penguin really wanted to talk to.

"Let me got, Ed.", he now asked, in a much softer voice than before. Even his expression had immediately changed, back to all that pain and sadness he truly felt, back to... was this care for Edward? The way Oswald now looked at the man dressed all in green was very different from before. Covered in his own blood, which was still streaming over his lips, with his swollen cheeks, and a black eye that started to darken, his face still showed so many feelings, but mostly worry. Worry for his old friend... "Please..."

"I... can't." Ed answered immediately, as he jumped up and literally fled the room.

Oswald noticed the door being locked from the outside. Several times. Now he was left on his own.

It took a while until he was finally able to pick himself up and to start roaming the room. Slowly limping he inspected every inch, in search of an escape, or a weapon – at least anything useful. Ed had done a pretty good job in recreating the room they once shared. That he had to admit. Gloomy his eyes wandered the pictures, the bed, the piano. Many memories lived with that sight, although it was only fake. His fingers wandered along the table they've had dinner so many nights, after Edward returned from his work at the GCPD. Chinese takeout, mostly. Yet it he enjoyed every second of those meals. Another sad smile snuck onto his lips, as he returned to the bed searching for the squished crumbles and remains of that toast he tried to eat earlier. - Well that didn't look edible any more, but it had to do. So as if he'd lost all dignity Oswald scratched the remains off the floor and sheets, eating what he could eat. He struggled chewing, for his jaw and teeth were pretty much damaged and his cheeks swollen. But he tried. Pain-tears left his eyes as he ate. Crouching on the floor, shoving squished toast crumbs between his lips Penguin felt the humiliation creeping up his spine. This situation... him, completely out of any control, drove him crazy. At least he now knew he still was able to put his spell on Nygma. With the Riddler not being in charge, or merged with Edward there was part of that person left he once loved – maybe still – no. No that ship just sailed. Oswald corrected his own thoughts. And that person was weak. That person still cared for Cobblepot as he did for him. But it would take him a lot of strength to turn the tables. It would take a lot of energy to change the game, to set some new rules – his rules. It would take so much from him. Energy Oswald couldn't bring up any more...

'I hope you know, Oswald... I'd do anything for you.' he recalled the words Edward said to him after he'd nearly been killed by Butch. And today? This anything had turned real badly. Especially since the past hours. But maybe it had been a lie all from the start. He couldn't tell no longer. Everything seemed to be in doubt. Everything he ever believed and cared for slid through his fingers, vanishing into nothingness. Oswald climbed the bed, slipping under the covers, hiding himself there. There was a lot of now dried blood. Some stains began to widen as silent tears fell down onto the sheets. He felt so tired. Too tired to roam around once more. His body felt numb and petrified. Exhaustion took over his badly hurt body. The concussion still caused his head trouble in form of a badly ache. Slowly his eyelids shut and Oswald gave up on his guard, as he slipped into a bad dream.

It seemed as if he wasn't to find any rest at all. Neither awake nor asleep.

Nightmares followed his every step.

And he only wanted to rest...


	5. Nightmares

When the night is dark

Chapter 5

Nightmares

Oswald sat in a white room. Crouched to fit in. It was like a box. Tight. Taking his breath away. As suddenly that little room erupted and then... moved. His fingers tried to keep him in one position, tried to grab the white, flat walls. He braced his hands and feet against the walls, as the small room started to roll overhead. The fourth time around his shanking hands couldn't hold him any further, which left him dropping against the ceiling head first. As the spinning finally stopped Oswald laid in the box, on his back, his feet pressed against the ceiling, his face in pain – as the box suddenly unfolded. And directly in front of him he saw a familiar face: Edwards. Only it was as huge as a house and Oswald sat in the palm of Eds hand. Crawling backwards he tried to flee the strong breath, which blew around him like a storm. "Hello, old friend!" - Nygmas voice was so deep. The bass so strong it nearly burst the small body in his palm, who now stood up and started to run. For the first time in years without limping. He ran - until two giant fingers made him fall. Whilst the fingers lifted Oswald, they brutally crushed his leg again. Penguins screams were silent, drowned out by a deep "I want to destroy you". Suddenly Ed flipped the miniature body into the air, in an attempt to catch him with his mouth and – oh my god! No!  
Just before Oswald entered Edwards mouth he awoke with a start, screaming, completely soaked with sweat, sitting up. It took a few moments, until he realised that this had only been another nightmare. As every time, when he closed his eyes. He tried to calm himself, breathing deeply. Sharply in- and exhaling the cold air. Eventually he realised he was still imprisoned in Edwards strange scenario-room. Probably left for dead. That's when he suddenly noticed a plate on the bed. Nygma had food prepared. Plenty of it. Oswald tried to remember when he had last cooked for him, but he couldn't. Not only was there food, but also a note, next to a pill – and he wasn't even cuffed to the bed again. Penguin slid to the tablet and read the note with caution.

'Entree: Garlic bread

Main: Duck on red wine sauce,

Dessert: A collection of international sweets.

The pill won't kill you, just help you sleep.

P.S. Please change the sheets and put the dirty ones by the door.

And take a shower.

You'll find fresh sheets and clothing in the wardrobe.'

And no riddle at all. Oswald checked the notes back to be sure.  
Hesitating, he put the pill on the cupboard, to keep it there for later – only then started to eat. It was delicious. Filling his tummy with warm, good food – something he really had missed. Edward even left a bottle of wine for him to drink. At the beginning he felt not really comfortable eating and drinking what Nygma had provided him – but the feeling left after a while. He even did what he was told and changed the sheets, soaked in blood and sweat, to leave them by the door. But no one came. Penguin put new sheets on the bed and then limped slowly into the bathroom. Indeed he felt dirty and sticky. Ed had provided him with a suit and a couple of pyjamas. The situation only seemed to grow stranger as he could have imagined it to become. But all worries aside the hot water on his pale skin eased pain and sorrows at least for a moment. His fingers slid over the cool tides, supporting his body as he leaned his head against the wall. The waters rush even seemed to drown out not only all sounds around him, but his own dark thoughts. Only for a second Oswald Cobblepot felt in peace with himself. His eyes fell shut, as he stood there, enjoying the hot water flowing over his body.

Suddenly a strong hand pressed his head against the wall. He felt a huge body in his back – but couldn't turn his head to look. A hand, covered in a black leather glove, grabbed his wrists, keeping them together over Oswalds head. Water ran into his eyes, as he tried to see what was going on – unable to move, paralysed. He didn't move at all. He only noticed his black hair sticking at the tiles, as a pair of lips closed in on his ear. "Got you where I wanted you.", Nygmas voice hissed, in a dark laughter. With a sudden move Oswald took all his strength to push the man away, his arms were flailing in the air – as there was no one with him. He was all alone in the bathroom – no trace of Nygma. He felt as if he'd just waken up from a microsleep, by the feel of falling... Out of breath Oswald raked his fingers through his black hair, whilst his shaking knees gave in on his weight. Slowly sinking onto the floor he now covered his face with his hands – and cried as silently as possible... Now his nightmares even followed him into his days... he felt embarrassed for crying, but couldn't help. Penguin clung his arms around his knees, hiding his head in-between. Hot water still ran upon his body and head, hiding all those tears he didn't want to see himself.

Two hours had passed and the water long since turned cold. He was shaking. Barely noticing the sound of the locks of the door being opened. For a second he tried to move, but couldn't – and it took only a couple of seconds for Edward to come in and turn off the water. Both kept silent. But it was obvious by the look of Nygmas face, that he had a lot to say – yet didn't. Instead he took a huge towel and put it over Oswalds shoulders and head, covering him completely in the soft fabric. Edward slowly dried the black hair, before he pulled the smaller man up, to make him stand. Penguins body had turned way too cold, Nygma noticed, as he towelled down the thin, small body, that shook so heavily, with lips all blue and skin completely soaked. As he was finished he lifted Oswald into his arms. Without any further warning or words he carried him back to bed. Edward knew his former friend didn't really notice him... his eyes... he was so absent and tired, as if he was dreaming with open lids... So he did what he could to get that small body warm again, tucked him in, and brought hot tea, as well as a hottie. But as Oswald just wouldn't stop shaking he decided to lay down next to him, to keep him warm. It was a weird situation. Edward felt no need for revenge at this moment. No tension, nothing. His only concern was with Oswalds temperature. If only for a moment...

Another two hours passed, until Penguin finally woke up from his day-dream. He felt so safe and warm. Warm breath met his neck and made its way down his back. Two strong arms kept him safe in a warm embrace. Oswald felt a soft, steady heartbeat against his back. Was this Edward? What was he doing? Was he really spooning him? A second flew by until Oswald rushed forwards, in an attempt to flee. But he wouldn't get far, as the grip of Nygmas hands tightened and kept him where he was. "Calm down.", the cool voice only said. Ed noticed the pale shoulders starting to shiver again, but not for the cold. He pulled the blanket back up to Oswalds chin. His fingers carefully brushed the now dry black hair. Eventually he let him go, to sit himself up.

"I had to get your body warm again. You were alarmingly cold.", he clarified. "Did you attempt to hurt yourself?"

Oswald only shook his head. His voice was weak, barely recognizable "No..."

He felt Edwards eyes on his back, as he curled up a little more.

"You... attacked me.."

"I did nothing of that sort."

"Liar."

"I meant: Not while you were in the shower. I'm not a pervert."

"Another lie...", a heavy sighing came over Penguins lips. His fingers were digging deeply into his own arms.

/Look at this, Ed. We made it! He's completely broken./ Ed tried to shake off the voice inside his head as he laid his hand on Oswalds clenched fingers, trying to ease them a little.

/He will never recover, Eddie. That's it. He's done, waiting for sweet, sweet death you'll never grant him./, the voice laughed, whispering in his ear.

"No.", he protested. - but it also came off as an answer to Oswalds accusation, so he just went on: "I am no pervert. I promised I wouldn't let him do any harm to you again", Edward swore as Oswald and the Riddlers voice simultaneously spoke:

"Liar." /Liar./

He would hurt him. Sooner or later. They all knew it. Only did Ed try to lie to himself. He did not want Oswald hurt any further. He felt as if he had have his revenge. He didn't need to go on... He did not. He did not. He... As if a bystander he saw his hand slide up Oswalds shivering arm, to his shoulders, poking the naked, now warm skin, until his fingers ran up the back of his head, to clench themselves in the dark hair. He pulled Penguins head back, keeping him in his strong grip.

"I may be many things, but I'm no liar.", the Riddler hissed into Penguins ear. He ran his hands around the small body to keep him close again.

"I'll enjoy pushing all of that little life left out of your body. Breaking your bones and soul entirely. And – I – for sure keep my promises, little bird." His fingers caressed Oswalds chest, which lifted and lowered in a slow pace. "And – this – is a promise.", he chuckled. "You're way to unagitated anyway.", his voice grew softer, in a strange and creepy way, as his fingers slid the blanket off Oswalds shoulders he jerked him between his own legs, pressing his chest against the small back.

"Now."; he paused a second. "I will finish what I've started."

Penguin swallowed hard. He couldn't do anything else. His arms hang limp next to his body, shivering, but without any further motion. Tears welled in his eyes, unseen by the Riddler, who's hot breath crept down his neck, as he placed long, frightening kisses on the skin there.

"You... don't have to do this...", Oswald only whispered as the fingers on his breast left some scratch-marks on his pale skin.  
"But I want to." This answer came with a dark laughter. Edwards fingers wandered deeper, pushing away the securing blanket between his legs. "Can't you feel how much I want to do this?", he whispered, pressing his crotch tight against Penguins lower back. He did feel it. He did feel something he didn't want to feel. Something he never wished for. Something he never saw them doing. He may have loved Edward but not in a... physical way.

"Why can't you just kill me off..."

"Where'd be the fun in this? The anticipation? The finesse? No this has to be perfect. And as we both know: killing you never worked out that well, little cockroach.", Ed whispered in Oswalds ear, just before he bit his lobe. "And to be honest I wished for this since a long time... I may not love you, Oswald. Never have. Never will. But that doesn't mean that I've never been attracted to you. And you should be thankful. You won't die a virgin.", Nygma laughed again, as he grabbed the hair once more and pushed Cobblepot down, pulling his legs back so he once again lay prone. Carelessly throwing the blanket on the floor. "Don't be shy, Oswald. You do have a beautiful body to look at.", Edward noted as he bent over his former friend. He didn't touch him as rough as he did at his first attempt. It was obvious that he didn't want to knock his victim out again. Oswald was supposed to witness what happened. And he did. It didn't take long until he noticed the sound of a zipper. It felt as if there were hands and kisses all over him. To the green devil he yet wasn't broken enough, there was still too much life left in his soul. Just as he thought he'd won. But he would get rid of this. For sure. The creepy kisses left Oswald paralysed. His body frozen without the slightest flinch. Only tears ran silently down the reddened and swollen cheeks. It didn't take long. But for Penguin it felt like eternity. The thrusting, the pain, the screeching of the bedposts. And again the thrusting. Edwards sweat dripping down on him. His breath and threatening whispers. Burning heat spread in his body while he felt as if he was being torn in half. He noticed that his body came nearer to the beds edge, but he was pulled back.  
"It's like loving a corpse, Oswald. Do. Something.", the Riddler suddenly demanded. Obviously in need to get off on his screams. But he wouldn't. Not a single sound left his hurting lips. No matter how immense that pain had grown. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction to scream for him. No matter how badly he beat him in-between. It was a strange mixture of caressing and punishment by beating. Penguin didn't know if it was Edwards influence which was tender on him. He didn't care anyway. At some point not even his body went numb but also his senses. At first it started off with his hearing. Droning noise drowned out the sounds of the bed, of his own breath and Edwards', the skin that beat against skin. He could only hear his own blood, accompanied by a high pitching noise. And finally his eyes joined in. His vision got all blurry and distorted. He felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning.1000 thoughts at once ran through his head but all so fast that in the end he felt as if he didn't have any thought at all. Indeed Edward pushed the life out of him. With every thrust he died. Oswalds fingers clenched into the sheet, right in front of his face.

"No..."

Voiceless pleading. Silent protest as Nygma finished, sinking down on the cold, lifeless body which only seemed to produce tears. "I probably hurt something. Maybe I should get the doc over.", Edward murmured to himself as he inspected blood on his hands before he backed away, rolling over on his own back to lie next to his victim, smiling while staring at the ceiling. He held his fingers before Oswalds trembling, and wet eyes. There was sperm mixed with blood on them.

"The Doc will have a look on you. But since you didn't cry. Can't be that bad, can it?" Edward smiled as he shut his own eyes to rest. He knew his victim wouldn't even dare to do something. And he didn't. Oswald only fished for the blanket on the floor, to cover himself up. He didn't do anything else, but watching Edward, sleeping as an angel... A dark, dangerous, hellish angel. He just lay there curled up, staring into nothingness, shivering and silently weeping. This was too much. Edward had won. Or the Riddler. Who ever. Oswald didn't really care anymore. None of those two personas were the one he once fell in love with. None of them. Cause none of them would have done something as despicable. After a while Oswald got up and left the bed, he just walked through the room. Aimlessly. He was so tired, but didn't want to close his eyes. At least not anymore. He didn't want to be reminded of those horrors.

His shaking legs led him to a picture, Edward had hung at the wall. That picture was of a long forgotten time. A time when he became elected mayor. It was his winning picture, when he announced Edward his right hand. A day his world seemed so bright. When he felt as if there was a person who loved him. Cared for him. Someone who claimed he'd do anything for him... When the people of Gotham cared. When they loved Oswald Cobblepot for the man he was. But that day was long gone. Exchanged for pain, lots of pain and tears. All that pain... and now...? Nothing. He felt nothing at all. Not the tears running down his cheeks. Not the aching pain. Not the blood. Not a single emotion at all. There was truly... nothing. How long did he even stand there? Did anything even happen? Oswald couldn't separate dream from reality any more. Did that man in the picture? That man that would have died for him once, did he really just rape him? To have his petty revenge? To have his satisfaction? To avenge a woman he knew for a couple of days? Or did he only have another nightmare? He couldn't tell the difference of being asleep and being awake. He wasn't in the shower with him... maybe he wasn't here at all? His head turned slowly. The Riddler suddenly stood right behind him, with his cold smile. "Clinging to the past, Oswald?", he asked him in a calm voice, as he came even closer, so his chest slightly touched Oswalds shoulder. "That's not very healthy. You should start living in the now. Or... dying." His leather coated hands slid around Penguins neck. Strong fingers slowly pressed into the pale skin, until Oswald started to pant for air. But his hands wouldn't move. He wouldn't defend himself. On the contrary, the former mayor even started to laugh. Weirdly. Desperate. Confused. He just... laughed. At all that desperation. That pain. Everything. This was nothing but absurd. Was wishing to die really too much to ask for? Why did he have to endure this torture as he already was lying on the ground? Nothing made sense anymore. But there were no hands on his neck. And no Riddler that stood behind him. Edward sat on the edge of the bed. Staring at Oswald. "I think you're in a dangerously high fever, Oswald. You really should get back to bed...", Edward spoke in a worried voice. "I'm worried, Oswald...", he sighed. "I'm worried you're losing your mind." But the broken bird didn't show any reaction at all, but a weird laughing. "Can you even hear me...? Oswald?" Edwards face showed nothing but worries. "Oswald?"


End file.
